


The Marriage of Wit and Wisdom

by K_dAzrael



Category: Marvel, Thor (Comics), Thor (Movies)
Genre: AU, Jotun!Loki, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-06
Updated: 2013-03-06
Packaged: 2017-12-04 12:01:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/710571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K_dAzrael/pseuds/K_dAzrael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Loki laughed again, placing his hands on his slim hips. “Oh, don’t tease me, Thrym. What poor creature have they bribed to take my hand – some ambitious lordling desperate for advancement?”</p>
  <p>Thrym’s lip twitched and he lowered his eyes.</p>
  <p>“Oh,” said Loki, a flat, oddly deflated sound. “It’s you?”</p>
</blockquote>A Loki never baby-napped, Jotunheim never goes to war with Asgard AU.
            </blockquote>





	The Marriage of Wit and Wisdom

Laufey sighed when he saw Byleistr’s purposeful approach. The eldest of his twin sons came striding into the hall and glared impatiently until the lord who had been seated to Laufey’s left at the board respectfully excused himself and rose from the table, allowing Byleistr to slide into his place and command his share of the king’s attention.

“Dam,” he announced. “I have been thinking, and it is high time that I was married.”

“Married?” Laufey raised a brow. ‘I suppose you have someone in mind?”

“Valdi of the Easterners.”

“Ulfr’s son?” Laufey stroked his chin. “You would have me open negotiations, then?”

“Valdi will be expecting it – in truth, we have made the match up between us and all is agreed. Yet I know that certain formalities must be observed...”

“It is gracious of you to include us in your plans, Byleistr. I suppose–”

Farbauti sat forward, his soft, dreamlike voice cutting across that of the king. “But Laufey, what of _Loki_?”

“True enough,” the king replied. “Our Loki is not yet wed – it would be unseemly for a younger son to supersede the elder in such a matter.”

Byleistr gave a contemptuous toss of his head. “Who would have _him_?”

“You will watch your tongue, child,” Laufey snapped. “Loki is a prince of the realm and any suitor we choose for him will consider it an honour.”

“And so I must wait, indefinitely? What will I tell Valdi?”

Laufey tapped his fingers on the arms of his chair. “Perhaps you should have paused before entering into such a rash agreement?”

“It’s not fair!”

“Oh, things so rarely are,” Laufey mused.

Byleistr scraped his chair back and strode away in a temper, scattering servants and nobles alike in his wake.

“Well?” Laufey turned to his spouse when Byleistr’s footsteps had receded. Fabauti’s eyes were wandering across the vaulted ceiling, his long, thin fingers tugging at his narrow bottom lip. “Farbauti?”

“Hmm?” Farbauti blinked and seemed surprised to see Laufey sitting next to him.

“We are talking of Loki, and who he shall wed.”

“Oh, that is easy enough.”

“Well?”

“Well what?”

Laufey sighed. “Never mind. I am going to pay a visit to Helblindi, will you come with me?”

Farbauti hummed vaguely and waved him away. “I follow you.”

*~*~*

The double doors to Helblindi’s suite of rooms were ajar, and the tinkling melody of a harp filtered out into the corridor. Laufey had ventured forth without any attendants, and so there was no-one to announce his arrival. He was therefore able to catch a glimpse of the second of his twin offspring in his natural environment.

Helblindi sat in an ornately carved chair, his white hair cascading back over his shoulders as one hand leaned upon his pale cheek and his eyes, which were a very vivid shade of pink, flickered across the ceiling. Of the three princes, it was Helblindi who most resembled Farbauti in features and bearing, yet he had none of his sire’s otherworldliness, unless it was in his uncanny ability to predict future happenings – whether through mystical or mundane means, Laufey had never been able to fathom.

Next to the harpist stood a foreign youth – one of the light elves judging by his stature and colouring. He was swathed thickly in furs, and upon Laufey’s entry just on the point of launching into song – a delicate, quavering melody unlike anything Laufey had heard before. A knot of scholars noted for their radicalism were bent over a table in the corner examining some mysterious runic writings. Before Helblindi’s chair stood two lords from the extreme North (whom Laufey had not known to be presently at court), one of them talking animatedly.

Even over the commotion, it was Helblindi who noticed Laufey first. He sat straighter, tilting his head to one side and holding up one hand for silence.

“I fancy I hear the footfalls of the king.”

“You do indeed,” said Laufey, smiling. “I crave a few words with you, my child, if it is convenient.”

“It is fitting that I wait on your leisure, sire, not you on mine. If these good friends and attendants will take their leave for a short time...”

The room quickly emptied through several doors, leaving only a Jotun youth who stood at Helblindi’s right hand.

“Huld,” Helblindi murmured. “Will you call for refreshments? Perhaps the wine from Vanaheim – the steward promises me he has it kept where it won’t freeze.”

“Yes, prince.”

Pulling aside an arras behind the chair, the attendant slipped away.

“Were those lords petitioning you?” Laufey asked.

Helblindi touched a finger to his lips as if in consideration. “Not as a royal person, only as one well-versed in law. The matter is a land dispute, and I would see resolved rather than infinitely prolonged.” Helblindi rearranged a strand of his loose hair. “Did I overstep my bounds, sire? It is not my intent–”

“Don’t call me that,” Laufey snapped. “I am not ashamed that I bore you, Helblindi, nor am I impressed by this show of servility from my own child.”

Helblindi’s eyebrows drew together in a momentary expression of – something, discomfort, or disdain perhaps. He folded his hands together on his lap. “Well, what can I do for you?”

Laufey placed himself in a chair. “Tell me what you know about Byleistr’s intended.”

“Valdi? Oh, a horrible, grasping little thing. Exceedingly well-favoured, or so I have heard, and no disgrace on the battlefield. Why?”

“Is it an infatuation, then, or some kind of power-bid?”

“They’re not mutually exclusive, are they?” Helblindi smiled. “He is a first and only child, Valdi, and you know well how many retainers his sire commands.”

“Presumptuous of Byleistr, is it not? I have not named an heir.”

Helblindi laughed. “Oh, nor will you.”

“What makes you think so?”

“Alas, we are none of us fit for such a public blessing. Loki hardly cuts and impressive figure among our people, nor would they care for the symbolism of a blind king,” he gestured to himself. “Byleistr is proper enough in body, yet I hear that he is now infamous for his pride and rashness, and shows no sign of outgrowing those vices.”

“Do you actually talk to your twin these days, or just send your spies after him?”

“If Byleistr no longer keeps my counsel it is not through any action of mine,” Helblindi sniffed. “He has other fish to fry, no doubt.”

“He used to take you everywhere by the wrist,” Laufey recalled. “Always running too fast for your sightless steps, until you both stumbled or got entangled. You were like a four-footed monster.”

Helblindi sighed, long, glassy nails clicking rapidly as he drummed his fingers on the arm of the seat. “I suppose he meant it as a kindness. I suppose he thought I wanted nothing better than to be part of his friendships, his childish adventures.”

“Perhaps he wanted nothing better than to be a part of yours.”

Helblindi’s expression darkened. “Well. We stand on our own two feet, now.”

Laufey paused for as long as it took to cross one leg over the other before beginning a new subject. “I came to tell you that Loki is to be married soon. Your sire thought it best, since Byleistr is so keen to make his own arrangements.”

“Oh? Will you marry him out of the realm?”

Laufey gave a low chuckle. “We rather strive to keep him within its confines.”

“I thought one of the Aesir or Vanir might do better for someone of Loki’s stature than one of our own kind.”

“Your older brother would make a poor ambassador, I fancy.”

“Then who is the lucky Jotun?”

“Only Farbauti knows. I do take it he plans to share the information, eventually. Will you help me draw up the guest list? I forget who is feuding with whom.”

Their conference was interrupted by the reentry of Farbauti’s youthful attendant with the wine. His hand trembled a little as he poured Laufey a cup of a liquor that was the colour of sunlight, before moving on to serve Helblindi. There was something in the way he touched the inside of Helblindi’s wrist to get him to close his fingers around the cup that suggested intimacy.

“Who is that?” Laufey asked, as the youth slipped out side door.

“No-one. A lord to his sire, but one unwed to his dam.”

“Has he been with you long?”

Apparently Helblindi could hear the raise of his eyebrow, as he retorted: “I’m not going to demand to marry him, if that is what concerns you.”

“Your conduct never concerns me, Helblindi,” Laufey returned. “You comport yourself with the greatest propriety, always. It is rather your happiness I fear for.”

Helblindi scowled and sipped his wine. After a moment’s silence, he offered: “Valdi has debts, which may explain his sudden enthusiasm for wedlock. You might mention it to Byleistr – I have little faith it will change his mind, but it might at least give him pause.”

“Why don’t you tell him yourself?”

“He would never believe I meant it kindly.”

“Do you?”

Helblindi paused, rolling the cup back and forth between his hands as he considered the question. “Well, if he must make a fool of himself I would rather he did it with his eyes open.”

Laufey rose and crossed the distance between them to give his child a kiss on the cheek. “For your hospitality.”

“All magnificence in this house is yours, dam.”

Laufey ran his hand down the length of his youngest child’s arm. Helblindi had Farbauti’s markings – Byleistr took after Laufey; Loki had a mix of them both. “You will have your own things then – name the estate.”

Oddly, the suggestion did not seem to please Helblindi – his brow creased. “Thank-you,” he said, conscious of the favour being shown. “I will think on it.”

*~*~*

The hall was empty, the lights flickered, and yet Farbauti sat on at the head of the table, his head bowed as if in sleep. At his spouse’s approach he sat upright with a sharp intake of breath, blinking rapidly. “Oh Laufey, I miss you – where do you wander?”

“I was with Helblindi. You said you would follow.”

Farbauti’s brow furrowed in confusion.

Laufey squeezed his shoulder. “It doesn’t matter. Are you hungry?”

“No. I tire, I think. Where are the servants? I call and they do not come.”

“I will give them a stern reprimand,” Laufey said, though he would not – for who knew when or where Farbauti had called? “Come, I will be your attendant.”

In their chamber, Laufey knelt on the floor and carefully unpinned Farbauti’s long, white hair, which he always wore in the intricate looped plaits traditional to his nomadic race.

“You bear so much shame for me,” Farbauti said. “You need not, for they are not my kin – it is nothing to me what any of them think.” He sighed and leaned down to lay a hand against Laufey’s cheek. “I know, it is how you show your love. Your people cannot tell of of such things, except in service, in pains taken...”

“Do you wish I had put you away from me, Farbauti? You never asked it, but I never offered.”

“You ask me to wed, and I know, I know all this,” Farbauti made an expansive gesture. “I see all the lives there are for me. My sire he is stern and proud, he wishes one of our kind for me, but I beg him – beg my sire to send me to you. That great leader laughs at my fondness and tells me ‘oh, child, you cannot go to the king. He does not know your name.’”

“Did you know you would not bear children?”

“I bear you many children, Laufey.”

“None that lived.”

Farbauti blinked at him in his gentle, curious way. “Are you angry? That I know all the sorrows that there are for us, and still I give myself to you?”

“No. I just can’t imagine how you could stand that knowledge.”

Farbauti smiled. “I always know things. I am a small child and I see my own death.”

“How did you cope with that?”

“Oh, not well – I cry and rage inconsolably. I am a contrary little brat, and so I find a thing – an important thing – that I know I do, and I do something else instead.”

“So you can change things, when you want to?”

“Mmm,” Farbauti’s gaze wandered for a long moment and then he continued: “well, a new path opens up, but at the end of it there is death, too. He waits so patiently, I am almost friends with him.” Farbauti’s brows drew together in a sharp frown. “I’m not friends with yours though – I hate him. He snatches you from me and I am all forlorn.”

“When?” Laufey’s throat was so tight he had to speak quietly so the tremors would not show. It was absurd – that he, a soldier all his life, should shudder just to be told that one day he would die.

“My love, my only love...” he shook his head, looked off around the room and then snapped back to Laufey. “I am better, I promise. There is less that lies before us, so I am able to be here with you – not always flitting away. Not so much.”

Laufey nodded and went out to their balcony to have the wind and snow whip the sentiment out of him. When he returned to their chamber his spouse was in bed, the furs pooling around his waist as he combed his hair.

“Loki marries Thrym,” Farbauti said.

“Are you sure? Thrym is older than Loki, and I think he is already wed.”

“Loki marries Thrym,” he insisted.

“Alright,” Laufey joined him under the covers. He placed his hand on Farbauti’s stomach, feeling the soft, uneven texture of the skin there, the stretch marks that were like pale inlets penetrating the flesh of his hips.

Farbauti regarded his caresses with a strenuously thoughtful look – he was gathering ideas, trying to arrange them in order to talk about the past as best he could. “When we are young and first meet in the flesh, I think I will not wed you. It grieves me, because I know you are the only one I can love, but for your sake, I think, I will let you turn away. You deserve to choose a more fortunate spouse.”

“But you changed your mind, Farbauti. Are you selfish, after all?”

Farbauti kissed him. “A little. I also think to myself that happiness and ease are not the same. You bear woe and pain for me, but you do not wish it otherwise, my love. What you suffer for me makes you noble, and Jotunheim deserves a noble king.”

“So you grace my bed for the greater glory of the land, is that it?”

Farbauti laughed, a quiet, breathless sound which Laufey seldom heard. “Come, king, be magnificent in my arms.”

*~*~*

Thrym placed a knee on the ground and bowed his head to the king and his royal consort.

“My lords?”

Laufey scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Refresh my memory, Thrym – what was your spouse’s name?”

“Tindr, my lord. Of the people of Skergard in the far East.”

The king’s consort sat up straight, gazing directly at Thrym for the first time since he had entered the room. “Yet, he puts you away, I think?”

“That was many years ago, Honoured Farbauti. Tindr pined for his kin and the rock-dwellings that he must always think of as home. I released him from our bond, and thus he went forth in peace.”

“There were no offspring?”

“None, my lords.”

“Who was to be bearer?”

“He was – a third child of no fortune or estate.”

“That is an unequal match – why did your parents allow it?”

“My sire was brother-in-arms to Tindr’s. It was to honour that memory.”

Laufey sniffed, and then asked: “do you still bleed, Thrym?”

Thrym blinked rapidly but otherwise displayed none of the shock he felt. “I do, my king.”

“Very well,” said Laufey. “You may rise. We would request something of you.”

Thrym got to his feet and inclined his head in an attitude of attentiveness.

“What say you to the hand of our eldest, Prince Loki?”

“Why, what says the prince to me?”

Laufey frowned. “Nothing. Yet Loki is obedient to our will, and it is our will that he should wed you.”

“Even so, my king, I would hear agreement from the prince himself before I accept the proposal.”

Laufey’s voice grew sharp with displeasure. “Is this an answer?”

Farbauti leaned over and placed a staying hand on his shoulder. “Peace, Laufey, it is well.”

Laufey sighed, drumming his fingers on the arm of the throne. “Then seek Loki and bring him back to court. We will make the necessary preparations in your absence.”

Speechless with surprise, Thrym found he could do nothing but bow and retreat.

*~*~*

It took Thrym three days to find Prince Loki. He began with the servants in the prince’s own wing of the castle, finding out who knew Loki’s movements and at what price they would sell the information. This took him twenty miles north-west to the evergreen forest that wound its way up the hills. It was a bleak, cheerless place – the trees crowded oppressively close, and it was said that travelers were there frequently set on by murderers and thieves – or more unholy creatures.

Thrym had been hunting and tracking since he was a very small child. His sire had taught him to recognise the smallest impression in the snow, and where a fresh fall could be brushed away to find a print hidden beneath. Loki was a difficult quarry to track - footsteps stopped and miraculously reappeared some distance away. In some places the undergrowth had been pressed back or twigs snapped, but in others it was as if Loki was as insubstantial as the mist wreathing around the trees.

He persisted, and as the weak dawn began to twinkle its coral tones on the fresh powder he found his way to a clearing. There he found the still-smouldering remains of a campfire and strange sigils drawn in charcoal on the frosty ground. Here the weary tracker sat down to wait, dropping his head onto his breast and closing his eyes.

The crunching of footsteps woke him, whereupon he found Prince Loki staring at him with a mix of affront and curiosity. His fur-wrapped shoulders were hunched, his arms were by his sides and in one hand he clutched two blue geese by their spindly legs. Both had been killed by a wound to the breast and blood still dripped from one in a slow, regular patter onto Loki’s left foot.

“What do you want, Thrym?”

Thrym got to his feet and greeted him with a bow. “My prince, your royal parents instructed me to seek you out.”

“I’m busy,” Loki said, gesturing emphatically with the dead wildfowl. “Tell them I will return in my own good time.”

“With all due respect, my prince, I think it would be unseemly of you to come late to your own wedding.”

Loki blinked at him and then laughed, a brash, cutting tone. “My wedding? Ah, the court has grown bored, has it and longs for farce?”

“I do not believe your parents intend it to be such. They seem calm and resolved in their choice.”

Loki laughed again, tossing the birds aside and placing his hands on his slim hips. “Oh, don’t tease me, Thrym. What poor creature have they bribed to take my hand – some ambitious lordling desperate for advancement?”

Thrym’s lip twitched and he lowered his eyes.

“Oh,” said Loki, a flat, oddly deflated sound. “It’s you?”

“I assure you, it wasn’t bribery.”

“What, then – duty?” Loki said the last word as if it meant something utterly contemptible.

“Partly that – and, perhaps, curiosity. It is Honoured Farbauti’s scheme, I gather, and it is said he sees things – destinies.”

“Honoured Farbauti is mad – _that_ is well known.”

“If it were truly so I do not think the king would heed his counsel.”

“Hmm. The real question is, why now? Why all of a sudden?” Loki tapped his bottom lip. He picked up the dead bird and brought forth an icicle from the gap between his knuckles, slicing its belly so the entrails slid out onto the snow. Then he tossed the carcass aside and dropped into a crouch over the steaming mass.

“What do they tell you?”

“Well, nothing conclusive. Something about change,” He indicated with a slender forefinger. “There. A shift of power. I wonder if it’s Byleistr finally making his move.” His lips tugged upwards at the corners. “Oh yes. I think I should hasten my return to court – it promises to be very entertaining all of a sudden.” He rubbed his hands clean with snow and set off over a snow bank, disappearing into the powder up to his mid-thigh.

“And what of the marriage?” Thrym called.

Loki paused, glancing back over his shoulder and scratching his cheek in a thoughtful attitude. “Well, I suppose if the royal couple insists. I imagine marriage is considerably less troublesome than having always to answer to one’s parents – your estate is a good bit away from the capital, is it not?” Thrym caught a glitter in Loki’s eyes before he turned away and continued his course. “Oh, yes, yes, it must be in the king’s mind to gift me Geirrod’s lands, since that unfortunate episode of treason...” The prince chuckled to himself and then disappeared mid-stride.

Thrym put his hands on his hips and sighed. Then he turned back in the direction of the palace and resumed his weary trudge.

*~*~*

“You honour our kin, Loki,” Farbauti was saying, his long nails digging into Loki’s scalp as he began another small braid. “You do not cut your hair, as the warrior kind.”

“Neither does Helblindi.”

“Helblindi is no warrior, even if he wants. You wield the weapons and grace the battlefield in honour to Laufey, but you keep your locks. In this, you honour the Velspari.”

“Perhaps I’m merely vain, Farbauti.”

“Why do you call me so?” Farbauti said meditatively as he went on with his braiding. “To Byleistr I am ‘sire’, for he is blunt. To Helblindi I am ‘dam’, for he respects the form of address that belongs to my role, even if it is a role at which I fail. You call me by my name, as if I am no parent to you at all. That is very ungrateful, Loki. I nurse you from my own breast.”

Loki sighed as he tried to make sense of the elder giant’s ramblings. “You nursed me? How is that even possible?”

“A wondrous thing – Laufey and I both carry children, we labour side by side. Mine is born perfect, but dead, his–

“Very much imperfect, but alive?”

“That isn’t what I say,” Farbauti sniffed. “Anyway, Laufey gives you to me, all tiny and fussing in my arms. He thinks you don’t thrive, but I know better. For all your size you are a hungry thing, I must fall asleep with you latched to me–”

Loki wrinkled his nose. “Rubbish, Farbauti. You’re always making up ridiculous stories to compensate for your terrible memory.”

“Not so! If Laufey is here he tells you himself.”

“Tell me something true then, if you know the answer – why is Laufey shackling me to some fat has-been from the provinces?”

Farbauti simply smiled and took Loki’s hands in his much larger ones, with their gnarled knuckles. “It is a wonderful match, Loki! My heart overflows – oh, he is a good spouse to you!”

Loki opened his mouth and then closed it - maddened, as ever, that his sire was so incomprehensible.

Farbauti patted the back of his hand and gave a knowing look. “Ah, need I tell you of the joys of the marriage bed?”

Loki tugged his hands away, a sudden flash of anger and mortification. “Do you think to mock me?”

Farbauti looked at him, head set to one side and brows pulled together in seeming confusion. Then his gaze jerked upwards and his lips moved in a breathy mutter. He looked back at Loki, first startled, then critical. “Oh, child, you are not half ready! What slack person is it dresses your hair?”

*~*~*

The day seemed interminably long to Loki: there was a procession to the temple, then hours of the high priests’ mumblings and gesticulations. Then there was the final march back to the palace again for the wedding feast.

The great hall was in uproar – Farbauti’s kin had decamped in small groups all around the floor space, lighting fires where no fires were meant to be and displacing the returning court from their accustomed seats. The chieftains – nearly all in attendance at the great royal event – were looking to their high king, disgruntled that the strange, mannerless interlopers were being tolerated.

Fjolnir, the aged king of the Velspari, rose from his place at a fireside and stepped forward to meet Laufey. The high king of Jotunheim bowed to him (prompting a more frantic pitch of muttering from the assembled lords). Laufey then turned to Farbauti and took his spouse’s hand, offering it to Fjolnir, who pressed it to his lips with many fervent kisses. At this, Farbauti laughed and began talking volubly in his native tongue. The Velspari had a strange language which had no sense of past, present or future; only of things more or less certain – Loki had learned a little of it as a child through Farbauti’s nursery babble.

“Surely,” Fjolnir cried, “this is my greatest joy,” he folded Farbauti in his arms. “My sweet child! For we are asunder, I live only in my visions of you.”

Farbauti’s face anxiously searched that of his parent. “I see our people’s hardships, sire, and my grief accords with yours. Less-likely, Laufey-king gives aid to us – is it your wish I make complaint unto him?”

“Nay, Farbauti. Doubtful good lies that way, and it is not fit we mar this high celebration with our moan. Bring me to your firstborn and I give him my blessing.”

Farbauti turned and beckoned Loki with a gesture. Loki approached his grandsire with some reluctance, schooling his expression into something sufficiently blank as to be taken for respect. He bowed and haltingly gave his greeting in the Velspari tongue.

“I know him well,” Fjolnir placed his large, heavy hands on Loki’s shoulders, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Do not let it grieve you, child, that you lack our gifts – likely, you have enough of your own.” He turned Loki in his strong grip and pointed to a seated group of the Velspari. “Look – there is Odr, one of my own children.”

The person he indicated was sitting on a swathe off furs, his back hunched and limbs in an ungainly sprawl. Two attendants were combing his hair, but he seemed completely unaware of this, or his surroundings in general. An icicle of salvia hung from his slack lower lip and his unfocused eyes glimmered in the firelight.

“Odr’s visions are so strong that he cannot confine himself to one moment, or share with us what he knows. Certain, those who receive the fullness of the gods’ favour are sorely burdened therewith.” Fjolnir’s gaze travelled across the room to where Helblindi stood, his hand on his servant’s arm, and then back to Loki, placing his hand on the top of the diminutive prince’s head. “Perhaps, it is those we judge deprived who are most gifted.”

Loki felt a sharp flare of anger and pulled away, but before he could say something cutting in reply, Fjolnir turned his attention to Thrym, who stood a few paces back.

“Ah, and so this is your chosen spouse.”

Thrym could not have understood the Velspari king, but he knew well enough that he was being addressed by someone of importance. He bowed and turned his eyes to the floor in reverence. Loki had to fight the urge to smack him for the show of servility.

Fjolnir stood and looked Thrym over for a long moment. Loki wondered what he saw – all that Thrym was and would be, perhaps. Whatever it was seemed to well please the Velspari king, who smiled and joined their hands – Loki’s uppermost, as was fitting, though it felt small and childlike cradled in Thrym’s enveloping fingers.

From a pouch at his belt Fjolnir shook out a quantity of a dark green powder, mixing it with spit in a well in his palm. With his thumbnail he painted a dot on Thrym’s forehead, surrounding it with a circle. On Loki’s he painted something like a winged V or a set of ram’s horns.

“Thus I marry you in the eyes of our people,” said the Velspari king. “We need no more ceremony.”

“The feast will be laid,” said Laufey. “Will you join us at table?”

Farbauti obediently translated, but Fjolnir shook his head, smiling as he turned away. “Tell him, we have no order of place, nor dais. That is not our way.”

*~*~*

Laufey gazed at his spouse, who was staring dreamily instead of eating. “Farbauti, do you not wish to sit with your sire and brother?”

Farbauti blinked at him and smiled, brushing Laufey’s little finger with the tip of his own. “No, my love, I am with them in my visions, and in flesh I am yours.”

“I was just thinking about our wedding,” Laufey said, dropping his voice to an intimate murmur. “Many of the very lords gathered here were all glaring at us, sullen and angry.”

“Glaring at _me_ , Laufey. I interrupt their suits and steal you from them. They think you throw yourself away on me – to marry a Velspari, with no land or fortune. They mutter how the king your sire never allows such a thing.”

“Well, he was dead,” Laufey said cheerfully, taking a sip of liquor. “We had waited long enough.”

Farbauti smiled vaguely at this. He did not know what it meant to wait – for he had been with his spouse in dreams all the while Laufey impatiently paced the halls, repulsing his suitors and ignoring the scoldings of the king and his honoured dam.

“And in this hall,” Laufey said meditatively, “on this dais, I first laid eyes on you.”

Farbauti nodded. “I am with my sire, for the king wants to know the fate of harvests. What do you think, seeing me? Am I beautiful?”

“No, not beautiful,” he ran a fingertip down Farbauti’s long nose. “But you smiled at me as if you knew me – and as if we shared as secret.”

“I kiss you behind an arras.”

Laufey laughed, delighted that Farbauti could put these events in their order. “Yes, you shoved my shoulders against the stone.”

“What do I say?”

“I don’t know. Something in Velspari.”

“Oh, that is silly of me. What does it sound like?”

“How should I know?” Laufey found himself feeling oddly touched that Farbauti apparently thought of his mind as some fantastic library where everything that ever occurred in their lives was neatly shelved and instantly recallable.

Farbauti covered his mouth to conceal a gasp. “Oh! At night, I come boldly to your room, do I not?”

Laufey chuckled. “Yes. You climbed in the window and tumbled naked into my bed. I thought you wild and brash, but I suppose you weren’t at all – rather, you just knew I wouldn’t refuse you.”

“But I am so willful.” Farbauti shook his head, as if disappointed with himself. “My sire chides me for this – in this way, I am not like our people.”

“Well, I can’t say that I regret your eagerness that night,” Laufey smiled at the memory – Farbauti had bled like a virgin, but displayed all the skill and confidence of a long-term lover (one of the more obscure benefits of his foresight). “Afterwards, you told me of how we would be married and overcome all the obstacles that seem to forbid it.”

“Are you not angry, that I tell you what to do in such an insolent manner? You are the prince – do not you think it is right that I await your proposal?”

Laufey considered this – why it was that he had agreed to wed, when in that moment (both of them mere youths) it must have seemed an utterly mad proposition. Was it just that he was flattered by the romantic attention (something he had never experienced before, although there was already plenty of courtly maneuvering in progress for his hand)? Was he merely blinded by a sudden outpouring of lust? Or did he sense something like Farbauti did – some answering sympathy which told him he must bond with this person and no other?

“No, I don’t think I was angry,” he answered, smiling. “So you must have been very alluring and persuasive.”

“I am both those things,” Farbauti agreed.

Laufey gave a soft chuckle and looked over to where Loki was glowering into his wedding spirits. “And why persuade me to marry our eldest to Thrym? We could have given him someone younger – smaller, perhaps.” He glanced back at his spouse, but Farbauti’s eyes had lost their focus – he was elsewhere again, or elsewhen.

*~*~*

“Just look at those sorry, ragged vagabonds,” said Byleistr. “What in the world could have possessed our dam to marry one?”

“They’re prophets,” replied Helblindi. “Perhaps he thought having one for a mate would be useful.”

Byleistr snorted. “You don’t really believe they see the future, do you?”

Helblindi inclined his head, as if admitting the possibility. “I don’t see as you do, yet I don’t doubt that there are colours and visions such as you, and others, describe.”

“More fool you,” Byleistr replied, yawning. “Loki, you are very dull this evening. As a newly-wed you ought to be in the highest of spirits and yet you and your paramour have hardly said a word to one another since we sat down. A lover’s tiff, on this of all days? Surely not!”

“Don’t be cruel, Byleistr,” said Helblindi. “You know very well it was arranged, just as you know why.”

“And why was that?” Loki hissed. “Did you put our parents up to it? Some grand scheme to humiliate me?”

“Why should you be humiliated?” Helblindi asked. “Thrym is a noble lord and a fine match.”

“You can’t see how stupid they look together, Hel. Why Loki might be his snotty little nephew – AGH!” Byleistr dropped his cup as the iron suddenly flashed red-hot in his hand.

“Can’t hold your drink, little brother?” Loki did not so much smile as bare his teeth. “Now, pray tell, why is it suddenly a matter of greatest urgency that I should be married off?”

“To make way for me, of course,” Byleistr replied, drawing himself up straight. “As soon as a fitting amount of time has passed my betrothal to Valdi will be announced.”

Loki snorted into his liquor. “Valdi! Well, I knew him to be ambitious, but to throw his lot in with you he must be as desperate as he is foolish.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand, Loki – after all, you’ve never had a lover. Everyone pities you, you know – for going through this pathetic charade. I wonder how they settled on Thrym – did they toss a coin? Or line up all the nobles in alphabetical order and ask each in turn until one was foolish enough to say yes?”

“That’s quite enough, Prince Byleistr,” Thrym said, setting down his own cup with a thump. “You can at least wait until _after_ you have finished gulping our wedding spirits to begin casting aspersions on the union, I think.”

The three princes turned their heads in astonishment, apparently having forgotten that Thrym was seated to Loki’s left. Startling the company further, Thrym lifted Loki’s hand and raised it to his lips. Loki blinked at him and gave him a hint of a conspiratorial smile – but the next moment the tentative connection was broken by some older lords nearby clapping approvingly and throwing out well-meaning, lecherous remarks.

Loki scraped back his chair and hopped onto the floor. His face was as smooth and blank as vellum but for the briefest moment a terrifying light flashed in his eyes

“Stand up, Thrym,” he murmured, and then he laughed, a soft, apparently care-free sound. “My lords, I regret that we must retire from company early.” Over the cries of protest and demands for further toasts he called: “please, do not stand on ceremony or let our departure interrupt your revelry for even one moment!”

“Nay, stay a little prince!” called one retainer. “King Laufey, surely you do not permit this?

Laufey inclined his head. “Far be it from me to keep these eager ones from their bed.”

The drunken lords cheered at this intimation. “Labour long and rise late, happy couple!” called one. “Ah, go easy on the virgin, Thrym,” rumbled another, “for see how he blushes!”

Thrym glanced to Loki’s face – it was not at all what he would describe as a blush rather, the look in the prince’s eyes was like glimpsing into a the white-hot flames of a furnace for a moment before the door clangs shut.

Loki turned from the room and, short as his strides were, Thrym found he had to hurry to keep up. He kept up his brooding silence until they reached Loki’s chambers, where the covers were turned back and the lamps left burning. On a table near the bed the thoughtful servants had even left a platter of sweetmeats and a jug of spirits – just in case the couple’s amorous sporting left them in need of further refreshment.

“Animals!” Loki hissed, crossing to the balcony and staring out at the snow flurries. His arms flexed, fingers gripping the stonework so tightly as to turn white.

“They wish us well in their own misguided way.” Thrym said, seating himself on the end of the bed.

“Wish us well indeed – they’re mocking me! The very idea you and I should rut is absurd, a cruel joke that particularly amuses them.”

“Ah,” said Thrym. “Is it?”

“Yes!” Loki held his hands out as if to indicate himself. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I only wish you’d mentioned it before. When you said you agreed to wed I understood you meant to accept all the duties that entails. If it is your wish to live chaste then why not tell your royal parents of this intention?”

“Thrym, I am a runt of half your size. What did you imagine we would do?”

“It doesn’t matter to me what size you are. I would still like to know you as a true spouse.”

In response to this, Loki ran his hands back through his hair and gave a piercing, distracted laugh.

Thrym stared at him earnestly. “Do not begin this union in scorn, Loki. It is a terrible thing to feel marriage bonds like shackles, to share your hearth and bed with a stranger.”

“I suppose you would know?”

Thrym nodded. “My first spouse’s name was Tindr.”

“And you hated him?”

“No, quite the opposite.”

Loki tilted his head, narrowing his eyes at Thrym in a look that was part curiosity and part suspicion.

“Tindr won my affection and deepest respect, but I was little more than an acquaintance to him. He married simply to satisfy his sire’s pride, even though his heart had long been engaged elsewhere. Is it so with you, Loki?”

Loki shook his head. He looked away and then back to Thrym – an absent gesture that was reminiscent of his sire. “Weren’t you angry – with Tindr?”

“No, but I was saddened. I wanted to cherish him, but he would not have it.”

“So he left you?”

“I sent him away, much to his protest. He was very proud, you see – too proud to admit he had made a mistake in accepting the betrothal.” Thrym glanced down at his hands where her had threaded them together between his knees. “Yet, it is my hope he is happy now.”

“Do you enjoy the part of the martyr then, Thrym?”

“No. I did not do it to make myself miserable, but rather because it was doing neither of us any good.” He took a deep breath and looked up again. “Can you love me, Loki? Because if there is a reason you know that you cannot, I will go down this minute and tell your parents so. I will ask the king to tear up our contract and let you go free.”

Loki pinched his bottom lip between finger and thumb in a thoughtful attitude. “Would you really? In front of my brothers and all the lords? They would think you mad – madder than for having agreed to it in the first place.”

“So be it.”

“And if I want to put off the evil day in which you cast me away, I must come over there and submit myself to a ravishing, is that it?”

Thrym laughed. “No Loki, you must only say–”

“Say that one day I will?”

Thrym caught the teasing tone in Loki’s voice and merely smiled at this.

“Thrym,” Loki said, his breezy tone belied by a sharp glint in his eyes, “it’s really an absurd notion. You’re so big I could perch on your knee like a child.”

Thrym inhaled sharply and sat up straighter. “Oh, would you like to?”

*~*~*

Byleistr was, indeed, drunk, and holding it badly. “I do love him, you know,” he said.

“Of course you do,” Helblindi said, with his implacable calmness. “Otherwise you’d have gone for someone more influential.”

“He doesn’t love me, though.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You should have seen how angry he was when I told him we must delay the wedding.”

“Byleistr,” Helblindi said, placing his hand on his twin’s arm. “I have heard a rumour that he is... well, shall we say, financially embarrassed?”

“Yes, I know.”

“You do?” Helblindi smiled, absently, and shook his head. “Oh, brother dear, it must be a pretty face indeed to have made you so incautious.”

“What should I do, Helblindi? Should I break the betrothal? He will seek redress for the breach of contract.”

“Do you want to cast him off?”

“I should, shouldn’t I?”

“You have been a fool so far, Byleistr, but perhaps if you persist in it you will become wise.”

*~*~*

Loki stood before Thrym, gazing at him warily. Thrym’s expression was soft and open – he held out a hand and waited for Loki to give his own.

Loki narrowed his eyes at him. “You’d better not laugh, or mark my words you will regret it.”

Thrym sighed and twitched his fingers in a beckoning motion. Loki seated himself atop one of Thrym’s broad thighs with a truly regal look of hauteur. He made to duck his head as Thrym leaned in for a kiss, then seemed to think better of it, tilting his face back up so Thrym could press their lips together. The open-mouthed aspect to the exchange seemed to trouble him at first – their teeth clacked together before Thrym was able to correct the angle, coaxing Loki’s tongue to flicker against his own.

Thrym finished the kiss with a series of gentle pecks, smiling against Loki’s mouth. Loki pulled back and turned his face aside with a pettish look.

“So reluctant,” Thrym said, fingertips idly stroking at the crease of Loki’s knee. “It strikes me as out of character for one famed to be so incorrigibly curious.”

Loki swallowed and Thrym watched the bob of his throat. “Whatever it is you plan to do that’s so enthralling, why don’t you just get on with it?”

“This is a time for more haste and less speed,” Thrym remarked, turning his attention to Loki’s slender neck and tracing its length with nibbles and kisses. Loki twisted in his grasp like a fish plucked from the water, snaking his arms around Thrym’s back and digging in with his sharp little nails.

“There?” Thrym inquired mildly, biting the spot below his ear again. His fingers resumed their exploration – slipping beneath Loki’s kilt to the most tender skin of his inner thigh, before brushing against the seam of his labia. Thrym probed the opening gently, but found no impediment – a middle finger slipped easily into the tight, flexing channel. Loki let out a tremulous cry that rose an octave somewhere in the middle, digging his fingers deeper into the flesh of Thrym’s back.

“This is better than lying alone, isn’t it?” Thrym murmured, kissing the corner of Loki’s mouth as the prince surged against him, panting. He changed the angle of his hand to keep the tip of his finger inside Loki while pressing with his palm against the underside of his prick. Suddenly, Loki’s thighs clamped together and he went rigid in Thrym’s lap. Thinking he had inadvertently hurt the prince, Thrym quickly withdrew his errant hand from out beneath Loki’s kilt – only to find it slippery with seed. Loki sagged against him, but with a wild, glassy look in his eyes.

“It’s alright,” Thrym said, trying not to let his bafflement show as Loki promptly slid off his knee and took off unsteadily across the floor, disappearing through the doorway to an anteroom.

“Well,” he said to himself, blinking as he looked around the room. He got up and undressed before sliding under the furs, linking his fingers together on his stomach. _How am I to soothe such a strange and skittish youth?_

After a short time had passed, Loki crept back into the room, darting a glance at Thrym and then at the door on his far side.

“Come and lie down,” Thrym patted the empty space next to him. “You can hardly go back to the feast after making such an ostentatious exit. Come, there is drink here if you feel in need of it.” He filled a cup from the flask and held it out to the prince.

Loki narrowed his eyes. “You won’t laugh?”

Thrym shook his head. “Believe it or not, this is vastly more promising than my first wedding night.”

As Loki deigned to join him on the bed and took the cup. When Thrym set the platter between them Loki fell upon the sweetened nuts, fruits and delicate pastries with a voracious enthusiasm, trying each and rejecting the ones he did not like half-chewed.

“Do you want some?” Loki asked through a mouthful.

Thrym shook his head, trying not to smile. “Sweets make my teeth hurt – but there are trees on my estate that produce this very sap, so I will have such treats made for you on our homecoming.”

Loki followed a large mouthful with a slurp of his drink. “You don’t have to pamper and flatter me – we are neither of us what the other would have chosen.”

“You are beautifully formed,” Thrym said. “Perfect in scale, and such elegant markings. It is no hollow flattery to say that I find you very comely indeed.”

A muscle in Loki’s jaw jumped and he turned his face away.

“Who would you have chosen, Loki – what manner of person?”

“To be my spouse? I never gave it a thought. Luckily my watchful parents saw fit to provide me with one, nonetheless.”

Thrym smiled and refilled his cup. “To be your bedmate, then. Don’t tell me you never gave that a thought.”

“All kinds – I thought about lords and soldiers, down to the meanest kitchen scrubber.” Loki drained his drink again, then handed off the cup and lay down on the mattress with a grunt.

“Yet you never–” Thrym gestured awkwardly.

“No,” Loki said flatly, his eyes closed. “I just thought – imagined until my brain rang with it.”

Thrym set the platter aside and lay down alongside him, watching the movement of Loki’s eyes darting beneath their lids. To his great amusement, the prince soon began to snore softly, wriggling down into the bedding and kicking out as he turned onto his side.

 _Strange, changeable creature_ , Thrym thought. _Whatever did the Honoured Farbauti mean for me to do with you?_


End file.
